


to think that we could stay the same

by OnyxSphinx



Series: newmann one-shots [134]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, M/M, god. they're so in love., in which i give uprising canonicallity only long enough to use it as a jumping point, melancholia?, to give newmann a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22229260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: After Newt's cleared of any Precursor influence, Hermann's the one to give him the news that he's free to leave the Shatterdome. Understandably, given how long he's been alone, Newt asks to stay with Hermann.Some things never change, apparently, and what they had between them is there still.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: newmann one-shots [134]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286762
Comments: 1
Kudos: 38





	to think that we could stay the same

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "Hello! I love your recent prompts! Not that I didn't like the old ones but...you know what I mean lol I found a nice bittersweet prompt I hope that you will like! You don't love me but you used to. I wanted to say thank you for that."
> 
> also inspired by [THIS](https://rochc93.tumblr.com/post/190199793173)

The scent of the ocean is heavy in the air; it’s been a long time since Hermann has smelt it. Decades, probably—long before the first War with the Anteverse. The windows of the bus are cracked open, and he can see the coast out of them—the Coastal Wall never took hold here, not really. The locals were too stubborn for it, and Lars never managed to convince them of it.

It’s calming, almost; even as he has to grip the rail and dig his feet into the floor as the bus goes over a rough patch of ground; he always did love the ocean, even when it was spewing forth beasts that were trying to kill them all.

The memory of standing, triumphant, in the first sunrise after the War—they called it the War, then; knew no better, that a second one was already brewing—, Newton’s grip on him tight, comes unbidden; the warmth of him, the comfort, and Hermann blinks rapidly at it; trying to banish it, because he _will_ cry if he lets it go on, and he doesn’t want to do that in public.

Finally, it’s his stop; the auto-generated voice announcing the street over the speakers, pulling him back down to Earth, and he licks his lips; lets his grip slip, arm falling to his side, and gets off with the other passengers who’ve been waiting for this stop.

The trip from his office to his flat isn’t a long one; barely fifteen minutes, and yet, somehow, it inevitably feels like it takes years. Perhaps it’s just because he gets so caught up in his thoughts.

His flat is small and rather bare, even now that he’s lived in it for years—he never was one for personalisation, something Newton always needled him about. Well; before.

He remembers the day before; he thinks he had known, even then, that it was about to end soon; just didn’t know the enormity of it. Newton had taken him out for dinner—a high-end place, one that they never would have been able to afford before, during the War—and paid for everything, on his best behaviour.

Newton had ordered him his favourite desert—a sweet, many-layered honeycake, and watched him with a gentle expression as he sheared off pieces with his fork and ate it. Then, Hermann had thought that it was merely one of though. In hindsight, he can see the pain of loss in Newton’s eyes.

It was a lovely night; Newton had been so gentle and tender, and at the end of it, he had told Hermann that he wanted to be done, and Hermann had bit his tongue. “Why’d you bother with tonight, then?” he’d asked.

Newton had smiled; quiet, and a bit sad. “I loved you,” he had said, simply, “and you don’t deserve to have it end painfully.”

 _Ah;_ and Hermann had swallowed thickly and said, less of a realisation and more of a confirmation, “You don’t love me, but you used to.” Newton had nodded; expression still that odd mixture of sadness and— _something._

“Yes,” he’d said, his hold on Hermann loose. “Yes, I did.”

“I—I wanted to—say thank you, for that,” Hermann says, finally; barely a whisper, an his eyes were closed, because he could bear no longer to look at the other. “I—thank you. Thank you, Newton. It’s been—it’s been wonderful.”

When Newton had spoken, all he’d said was, “I’m glad.”

They’d fallen asleep like that; clothed in loose sleep-attire, arm-in-arm, for the last time. When Hermann had woken, he was alone; the impression of another body by his long gone, the warmth having seeped from it in the hours since, and there was no trace of the other except for how carefully the covers had been tucked around Hermann to keep him warm. Save for that, it was as if the other had never been there.

And now, it is after; and Hermann’s flat is bereft of Newton still, except for the memory of him.

They’re keeping him in the Shatterdome holding cells, still, though he’s been officially cleared of any Precursor influence; the logical part of Hermann understands that they need him for the War effort, for the offensive, for the information he can give them about the Anteverse and the Precursors; the human part of him hates them with a burning passion for it.

He’s seen him a few times—well. More than a few. He’s seen him many times, but he’s only seen _Newton,_ himself, a few. He's—God, he’s changed so much, and yet. And yet, he’s still the Newton Hermann carries around in his memories.

Hermann’s been trying to get him released—not on his own, obviously; they would never allow it, and Hermann knows that Newton wouldn’t do well. He’s been alone for so long—with _Them,_ yes, but alone still, and Hermann can read it in the crack of his voice and the jerkiness of his movements and the pain and hollowness in the Drift and the way he presses into Hermann’s touch, the times Hermann has put a hand on his arm or brushed against him.

It’s just so—damn _frustrating,_ how _slowly_ it goes.

He sighs; scrubs a hand over his face. Well; there isn’t any more he can do today.

* * *

It’s three more weeks of terse conversations and sharply-worded emails before, finally, he manages it; Newton is to be allowed to leave, on the condition that he continues to cooperate with the PPDC’s efforts to bring the War to the Anteverse.

They charge Hermann with telling him—or rather, Hermann gets into a shouting-match with the Marshal to force them to allow him to be the one to tell Newton. He doesn’t regret it much, even if his throat does ache.

“Newton,” he greets, as he opens the door, and Newton rises from his bed; sets the tablet he’d been working with down on the mattress and moves to stand before him.

“Hermann,” he says, and there’s the impression of a smile; not quite a full one, as if he’s not sure how to make his muscles form the expression quite, but it’s there nonetheless, and it sparks something like happiness in Hermann.

Hermann smiles back. “You’re free to go,” he says. “I, er, have a list of options for housing, if you’d like to look over them—I figured you’d want a roommate, so the majority of them are requests for roommates—”

“Can I stay with you?”

The words seem to tumble from Newton without his meaning to, because they both blink; surprised, and then Newton adds, hurriedly, “The, uh—Drift and stuff, yanno—”

“Oh no it’s quite alright,” Hermann cuts in, shaking his head. “I—I understand completely, Newton.”

The other’s worried expression smooths into one of relief, and he says, “Thank you,” and then he shifts from foot to foot, gaze not meeting his, fixed on the floor, as if he wants to ask something and is too hesitant to, and Hermann thinks, _ah._

In a single step, he’s bridged the distance between them and pulled Newton into a tight embrace.

The other doesn’t say anything; just melts against him, but Hermann knows he appreciates it.

When they break apart, Hermann says, “The car is outside, so if you’d like…”

“I thought you took public transport,” Newton says, and raises a brow.

Hermann flushes a bit. “Yes, usually,” he says, “but, I, ah, figured—well, maybe you’d prefer not to deal with that just yet.”

“Oh,” Newton says, simply, and then: “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hermann murmurs.

The ride back is quiet, but not tense; Newton hasn’t much stuff, so it’s easy to get him settled into the guest bedroom—Hermann is, suddenly, very glad he insisted on that, years ago, when they moved in here and the something between them was unspoken and he’d figured it would be better to be safe than sorry.

They eat a light meal; sandwiches, and Newton pulls his apart into small pieces before eating them, so it takes longer than it probably should, but Hermann doesn’t mind much; he’s taken the day off.

“Would you like to go anywhere?” he asks, “there’s still a few hours until I have to return the car.”

“Uh—park, maybe?” Newton ventures. “I haven’t been to one in ages, so…”

The rest is left unspoken, but the implication—of Newton being overworked half to death by _Them_ —is not one that sits easily with Hermann, so he says, “Of course. Any preferences?”

Newton shrugs. “Nah,” he says. “Just—green.”

* * *

The engine of the car hums beneath them; and Hermann watches Newton out of the corner of his eye. He’s sat in the passenger-seat beside him, and for the first time Hermann can remember in a long, long time, he’s not tense; though he looks a bit wary, he’s sitting loosely in the seat, hands folded in his lap, foot tapping absently on the floor.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, without prompting, and Hermann wonders why he’s said it.

“I’ve missed you as well,” he says, because honesty is the best policy, and he is no longer the man he once was, and because Newton has always been safe to him; because he doesn’t need to worry about being hurt with him. “Very much.”

Newton’s mouth curls into a thin smile. “Been a while since I’ve said it,” he says. “What—twenty-five years?”

“Something like that,” Hermann agrees. “I think I always knew you meant it, though, even when you didn’t say it. _I_ always meant it.”

“I know,” Newton says, and his hands unclasp, and one of them settles on Hermann’s leg. Hermann takes one of his own hands off the steering-wheel to place it over his. “And…and I love you.”

The admission doesn’t seem like one, really; in part, perhaps, because it’s just the voicing of what they both know to be true, so Hermann smiles and squeezes Newton’s hand lightly. “I love you too,” he says.

“If you weren’t driving, I’d kiss you senseless,” Newton says, and it’s slightly hesitant, as if he’s unsure if he’s allowed this, and that won’t do. Hermann pulls over to the shoulder of the road and turns the key in the ignition, the engine’s purr silenced.

“Not driving anymore,” he says, simply, and watches Newton’s expression change from uncertainty to surprise and then, finally, a fierce joy, and then he’s leaning in, a mere fraction of an inch between them.

“No, you’re not,” he says, and then he kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
